


hollyhock & juniper

by notthelasttime



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 12:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20209498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthelasttime/pseuds/notthelasttime
Summary: “We can deliver a message, if you’d like. Or… a gift?”Lady Lunafreya leaned forward on the couch across from him, beckoning a hand at him and the box, arm extended in offering. She looked kind enough, though Nyx had been wondering if her presence here, sitting next to Price Noctis, her own betrothed, was meant to be for his benefit. Another peace offering of sorts, as if to say if Prince Noctis and Lady Lunafreya could do it, if they could be happy together through their match, then so could he. As far as politics went, with all the hidden words and meaning, never saying what was true, Nyx knew the Lucians were, mostly, at least, on the honest front of things. Allies now, and with this marriage, for a long time into the future.So it wasn’t mistrust that made Nyx shake his head.“No,” he said, looking down again at the box in his hands, the delicate and shallow engravings on the surface of curved and intertwining branches. “No, this is something I’d like to give myself.”





	hollyhock & juniper

**Author's Note:**

> for the ignyx week prompt: political/arranged marriage  
was hoping I could get this one out as a oneshot too but.. e h.... oh well

The delicate _ clink _ of finely crafted ceramic tea cups placed back in their saucers felt loud enough to fill the room, echoing through the wide and empty space of the arched ceiling. Nyx shifted in his seat, his own coffee sitting untouched on the table in front of him while his eyes wandered. Old soldier habits dying hard again, taking stock and mapping exits or vulnerabilities- like those windows. There were a lot of windows in the sitting room, a nice change from so much of the dark and heavy gothic architecture that dominated the rest of the Citadel, so unlike anything he was used to in Galahd. Nice that the Lucians were attempting to make the meeting appear casual, except that the little guise of afternoon tea still reeked of politics and planning. But maybe that was just Nyx. Maybe it was casual for all the rest of them, still moving the last of their pawns around on chessboards, tying all the loose ends of the war off with a bow, but for Nyx it was serious. It was his life and his future, and neither things he had much of a say in, little choice but to accept.

And from what Nyx could tell, neither did his groom to be.  
“Will Mr. Scientia not be joining us?” 

The question was asked by his Chief Officer, the showrunner of this whole goddamn mess, but Nyx couldn’t help but be thankful that he’d spoken the same words that had been running through his mind. They’d been in Insomnia two days and he had yet to hear more than a whisper about his betrothed. They may have been stuck together either way, but it would have been nice to at least have a chance to meet who he was to be spending the rest of his life with. King Regis laughed.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse us Lucians for being old fashioned. It would be bad luck you know, to see each other before the wedding.”

Nyx’s grip on the birchwood box on his lap tightened.

Prince Noctis, who had thus far done a good job of pretending to act disinterested while blasting Nyx with a staredown only when he thought he wouldn’t be seen, flickered his eyes towards the movement. Behind him his Shield, Gladiolus Amicitia, every bit as an intimidating figure as his father, stood behind him statue still, just as Crowe had been standing by Nyx. But Amicitia’s eyes had been on him too, more subtle than the Prince, but every glance was laced with hostility. 

They could stay curious. The gift was for his betrothed.

Libertus had called him a sap. There was something grounding in the memory, good natured mockery of the situation when things hadn’t felt so tense, and Libertus saying they couldn’t pay him enough to go to Insomnia to prance around in his military formals and play nice with the Lucians. _ Sorry Nyx, hate to miss the food, but you’re not getting me back into the outfit _. He’d stayed in Galahd to be the responsible one and fill in for obligations while Nyx was gone, all despite the fact that Nyx knew Libertus would have wanted to be there, that Nyx wished he could have come. Galahd came first. It had to, after all they’d been through. It was small, in the long run of things, not having one of his closest friends at the wedding. A wedding arranged by everyone but himself and to someone he had never met before, but still a wedding. Still something to be celebrated. 

The ceremony was in Insomnia, but his groom would be coming back to Galahd with them, giving up his old Lucian life. Libertus missing the festivities was a small compromise to make on his end, given the alternative. And he knew Libertus would be grilling Crowe all the while for every update and turn of events, no doubt asking about this Ignis Scientia; who he was, how he acted, what he looked like. If he was good enough. That old streak of protectiveness and brotherhood shining through.

“We can deliver a message, if you’d like. Or… a gift?” 

Lady Lunafreya leaned forward on the couch across from him, beckoning a hand at him and the box, arm extended in offering. She looked kind enough, though Nyx had been wondering if her presence here, sitting next to Prince Noctis, her own betrothed, was meant to be for his benefit. Another peace offering of sorts, as if to say if Prince Noctis and Lady Lunafreya could do it, if they could be happy together through their match, then so could he. As far as politics went, with all the hidden words and meaning, never saying what was true, Nyx knew the Lucians were, mostly at least, on the honest front of things. Allies now, and with this marriage, for a long time into the future.

So it wasn’t mistrust that made Nyx shake his head.

“No,” he said, looking down again at the box in his hands, the delicate and shallow engravings on the surface of curved and intertwining branches. “No, this is something I’d like to give myself.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Their time in Insomnia was short, and every second micromanaged. This was not a leisure trip. Nyx was not romancing wedding plans, but meeting Lucian officials and getting paraded around the city. Part legitimate business, part public spectacle- public morality, public opinion, probably something about swaying the general public’s thoughts on Galahd into something more sympathetic, over battled hardened survivors from a bomb-scarred nation, used to fighting for their lives with tooth and claw and vicious suspicion. 

They had survived. Without the reliance on allies like Lucis that could not, or would not give much aid, while Niflheim raided the streets and turned Nyx’s home into something shredded.

And that, Nyx told himself, was the point of all this, of everything he was doing now. To make solid ties and guarantee it never happened again.

The morning of his wedding dawned clear and temperate. No glorious sunrise, no picturesque scene, but a calm sky of pale blue and soft yellow on the horizon. 

Nyx hadn’t slept. 

He’d tried- and tossed and turned and then given up entirely, his future stretched out before him in dreams, all the years to come with someone standing by his side. Someone whose face he didn’t know. So he’d gone to the window, the vast and sprawling view of Insomnia at night sprawling out before him, and he’d opened it up to let the cool air in, that it might help clear his head and stop the twisting of his stomach. 

It hadn’t, but it made the hours pass until he heard a knock on his door. 

“...Nyx?” Crowe stuck her head in as she cracked the door, frowning when she saw him, surely looking sleepless and tense as he felt. She sighed and came the rest of the way in, “Well,” she said, sticking hands on her hips, “I guess I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

The Lucians were waiting on him for breakfast.

A formal affair, doused in all the thematics of the ceremony to come, black lace table covers, big black silk bows, and vases over vases of flowers; deep velvety hollyhock and valerian. King Regis was there, and the Prince with his shield, and clusters of nobles and other royalty that Nyx had been introduced to in a blur, their names far faded as their importance to him, and their small wedding party form Galahd was so outnumbered it was hard not to feel surrounded and claustrophobic. The flash of a camera, pictures taken without his knowledge that Nyx could only hope looked moderately flattering, Crowe next to him muttering, _ smile_, under her breathe, and Pelna doing his best to drop names in Nyx’s ear before some new noble approached with their well wishes. 

Ignis wasn’t there. 

Onwards to preparations for the afternoon, ushered into his own private room by the elaborate hall where the main event was to take place. Nyx would try to look his best for his groom, first impression and a lifetime to impress for, a sense of surrealness settling over him as he got ready. Re-braiding his hair, giving a final inspection to the shine on his boots, and then changing into his ceremonial military ware. The deep blue uniform of Galahd, and not to be outdone by the Lucians, covered in frivolous embellishments; embroidered hems in gunmetal thread, his jacket cut short in the front, with a longer tail in the back, and covering the layers of his vest and shirt underneath with rows on rows of buttons. Then more- the coeurl horn that adorned his shoulder, signifying his rank of general, followed by the medals and honors he’d won in battle, pinned in rows along his chest, and those too were all metallic grey, brushed matte, adding a heavy weight onto his high collared jacket that already felt stifling. He’d be sweating through his layers by the end of the night, but there was only so much to be done about it, just like the bags under his eyes or the jittery feeling blooming out from his chest to his hands. Battles he could handle. Fighting and physicality, so intrinsic to himself, to what had become the Galahdian way of life, the honor that rested with those tested in war. Proficiency in those battles was what had gotten him here in the first place, a situation he was entirely and unquestionably ill-equipped for. He wondered again, as he had when the Chief Officer had spoken to him back home, if he was placed in this position, not because he was the best choice, but because they knew that where duty was concerned, Nyx would never say no.

“They’re ready for you.”

Crowe was there again, his guiding hand through all of this, serving as his guard, but more importantly a pillar, something to keep him upright and steady.

Nyx nodded, but didn’t move, like it didn’t feel right yet, it couldn’t be time to tie his life to someone else yet.

“You look nice,” he said, and Crowe just scowled at him, never one for sentimentality. But it was the truth, the little bit of makeup she put on, bringing out brown eyes and dark lashes, just a touch of pink on her lips. Her own military uniform was just as severe as his, styled differently for their rank and roles, but all the same greys and blues. She had tucked valerian into her hair, and as she walked forward Nyx saw she was carrying flowers he hadn’t noticed before. Hollyhock - for his lapel. 

With ease and efficiency the placed the flower in his uniform, before straightening the rest of his jacket, centering his shoulders and adjusting his collar. 

“I’m serious Crowe,” Nyx said, never one for nervous rambling, but finding himself desperate for conversation. Something to ease his mind.

“Nyx, you’ll be fine,” she responded in a tone that could harbor no argument, still busying herself by making sure his uniform was up to snuff, before dropping her hands, and taking a deliberate moment to stare him down. 

“You’ll be fine, okay?” she said, much softer about it the second time around. “It’s just marriage, right?”

That made Nyx laugh and she laughed with him, before turning slightly serious again. “For Galahd.”

“For Galahd,” Nyx said back with a nod, and with a final pat on his chest, Crowe turned to leave, pausing again for a moment when she reached the door.

“... Rumor has it, your groom’s quite a looker,” she said over her shoulder, and then Crowe disappeared again.

A short walk later and Nyx was standing at the raised dais that would serve as an altar for the ceremony, the grand hall already crowded with people, black bows on the backs of each chair, black lace draped over the adornments that surrounded him, the podium for the marriage officiator, and everywhere there were more flowers, the same black hollyhock and dotted valerian that had drenched the day thus far. It was all painfully Lucis. The grand room and impossibly high ceiling, rays of sun catching in the dust lighting the room through slits of windows. Everyone’s attire, so elaborate, layers of black fabric intertwined with gold, the differences in their formal robes signifying rank that Nyx couldn’t decipher. 

There were some small allowances, like the incense Nyx could smell burning, one of the few requests for the ceremony on their behalf, a little bit of Galahd brought into the room. As a boy, the scent had always made Nyx feel lightheaded, too pungent when he could smell it burning on the coastal breeze, but now it was a comfort. A reminder that he’d be home again soon. 

A string quartet played soft music while everyone found their places, musicians with somber faces and their instruments stained deep violet-reds. Nyx stood his ground, head empty but his heart pounding, somewhat reassured with Crowe as the first in line behind him as part of his procession, even if it was the Prince of Lucis in the corresponding spot across the dais where his groom would stand.

The quartet reached the end of their piece, notes long and drawn out, and the last of the guests found their seats.

A breath of silence hung in the air, released as the next song started, something melancholy and sweet that Nyx had never heard before, but based on the sudden rapt attention of the audience, he could guess it meant something to the Lucians, and had signified the start of things.

He didn’t have time to panic, or to wonder what to do with himself, to think of how he must look standing at the dais in front of the crowd, a stranger in a strange land, interlopers come to take one of their own away. 

At the far end of the room, the large wooden doors opened, slow and heavy, and in the sunlight at the end of the room, stood two figures. The man on the right, Cor “the Immortal” Leonis, whose legendary status had reached as far as the battlefields of Galahd. And next to him, Nyx’s groom. Covered head to toe in his black ceremonial robes.

They walked forward, Nyx’s pulse skyrocketing as they did, no getting out of this now. The isle stretched on long, and they walked in slow steps, Ignis’s hand resting on the Immortal’s arm, the other clutching on to a lush bouquet, the presumed hollyhock and valerian, but draping down the front was juniper.

Seaside juniper. From Galahd. 

Nyx eyed it and he could feel Crowe’s eyes burning on the back of his head. He knew it was her doing and he could have turned around and kissed her for it, that touch of home brought into this strange ceremony that wasn’t their own. Though it was perhaps bad form to kiss someone other than the groom on his wedding day, so Nyx stood stiff and watch the Immortal lead Ignis into his position and finally they stood face to face.

Sort of. 

Nyx couldn’t see an inch of skin. 

Curse the damn Lucians and their ceremonial robes, because here he was, finally with the groom that had so carefully been kept secret from him, and still he was swathed in layers of black fabric, a long hood pulled over his head, and from underneath that a black veil of intricate lace, blotting any view Nyx might have had otherwise. His sleeves were long and wide, and there too lace trim came up to his wrists, and black leather gloves covered his hands, fit snug like another layer of skin. He wanted to pull off all those layers, to finally see the man he was about to bind his fate to, but the ceremony began, an uncomfortable hush falling over the room and Nyx was left curious.

He’d been given a basic rundown of things before leaving Galahd, as it wouldn’t do to have a groom completely clueless about his own marriage ceremony. But everyone had failed to mention that the ceremony would take place in the language of the Six, archaic and hard to understand _ at best_, leaving Nyx feeling more and more like he’d entered some sort of fugue state, the shrouded figure in front of him, the smell of flowers and incense clouding the room. He followed through the motions, bowed his head as they were blessed in honor of each of the Astrals, and stood itching under his layers of clothing. Ignis couldn’t have been faring much better, with his head all wrapped up in lace and Nyx had the sudden vision of Ignis fainting from lack of air, falling into his waiting arms. 

But there was no fainting and the ceremony went on, and then Crowe was producing rings for him, onyx bands etched with curling designs, more subtle than anything else in the room and that was something to be thankful for. Ignis passed his bouquet off to the Prince behind him, and then produced a hand. 

Gentle, and uncertain if he was doing the right thing, Nyx pulled off the leather glove revealing pale skin and long fingers, soft to the touch but Nyx didn’t miss the feel of calluses that only came with repeatedly wielding weapons. He slipped the ring onto Ignis’s finger with ease, the perfect fit, sitting there like it was always meant to be, and then Ignis took Nyx’s hand in his and did the same. A strange feeling, wearing jewelry when he normally went without, and even stranger to see it’s twin on someone else’s finger. Someone he was now bound to.

“You may now seal your union with a kiss.”

It must have all been in Nyx’s head that the room went still and unmoving, waiting on him to move, Ignis standing, waiting, in front of him, still covered in that shroud. Again he didn’t know if he should proceed, but there was only one way forward. 

Careful of his hands, Nyx lifted the hood and let it fall back over Ignis’s shoulders, black lace still obscuring his features and Nyx lifted that too, revealing the face of his groom, and his breath caught. 

He was scarred. A jagged blossom over his left eye, healed into the deep brown-red of damaged skin, the right eye seemingly untouched, but it stared out at Nyx clouded milky white and unseeing. There were other nicks and rivets on his face, across his nose and mouth. A soft mouth, deep curved cupid’s bow that Nyx very much wanted to kiss, and so he did. 

The applause that erupted around them, cut Nyx short, as if he’d forgotten entirely where he’d been and what he’d been doing, that he was sanctioning concluding the ceremony and finalizing his marriage. Everyone stood. They were to be the first to walk out the doors, into the congratulations and reception that would follow, an Nyx would have been frozen if it weren’t for the voice at his side.

“May I take your arm?”

Loud enough so that only Nyx could hear, a smooth voice in a Tenebraen accent and that too threw him for a loop, one more mystery on top of all the rest that made up the man that was now his husband. 

“Of course,” Nyx said remembering something that could have passed for manners beyond all his staring, and he felt a solid grip on his bicep. The two walked forward together into the evening to come.


End file.
